"Linda Evans - Time Scout 1 - Time Scout" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evans Linda)

Some ramps and catwalks were still under construction or at least seemed to
be. A number ended in blank stretches of concrete wall, while others reached
islands that floated four and five stories above the main floor, supported by
open strut work like scaffolding around a cathedral under reconstruction. A
few
ramps and stairways stretched from scattered spots to end in thin air, leaving
one to wonder whether they led up to something invisible or down from a hole
out
of nothing.
Malcolm grinned. First impressions of Shangri-la left most visitors
convinced
the time terminal's nickname, La-La Land, came from the lunatic walks to
nowhere.
Large signs bordered several blank stretches, where balconies and catwalks
had been screened off with chain link fencing that made no pretense of
blending
in with the rest of Urbs Romae. The signs, in multiple languages, warned of
the
dangers of unexplored gates. The fencing wasn't so much to keep things from
wandering in. as to keep other things from wandering out. The signs, of
course,
were a legal precaution. Most tourists weren't stupid enough to wander through
an open portal without a guide. But there had been casualties at other
stations
and lawsuits had occasionally been filed by bereaved families. Residents of
TT-86 were grateful for their own station manager's precautions.
Nobody wanted the time terminal shut down for slipshod management.
Nobody.
Today's batch of tourists and guides looked like refugees from Spartacus.
Most of the men tugged -uncomfortably at dress-like tunics and expended
considerable effort avoiding one another's eyes. Knobby knees and hairy legs
were very much in evidence. Malcolm chuckled. Ah, Gate Six ...Malcolm wore his
own threadbare tunic with the ease of long practice: He barely registered the
difference between his business costumes and what he normally wore, although
he
did note that his sandal strap needed repairing again.
Women in elegant stolas chatted animatedly in groups, comparing jewelry,
embroidered borders, and elegant coiffeurs. Others wandered into the gate's
waiting area, where they relaxed in comfortable chairs, sipped from paper
cups,
and watched the show. Those, Malcolm knew, were rich enough they'd been down
time before. First-time tourists were too excited to sit down. Malcolm pushed
past the periphery of the growing crowd in search of likely employers.
"Morning, Malcolm."
He turned to find Skeeter Jackson, clad elegantly in a Greek-style chiton.
He
held back a groan and forced a smile. "Morning, Skeeter." After the brief
handclasp, he counted his fingernails.
Skeeter nodded to Malcolms tunic. "I see you're trying the slave-guide
routine." Brown eyes sparkled. "Great stains. I'll have to get your recipe